The Dunn Deal

by Catherine Leggitt

  I bent forward. “You’re afraid of him?”

  Her dark gaze darted toward the window. “Afraid? You bet! You should be too. That’s one bad dude.”

  Jesse leaned toward her. “Why?”

  Mary tilted her head and her voice lowered to a whisper. “That dude’s into really weird stuff. He’s not afraid of nobody.”

  Jesse frowned. “Weird stuff? Is that what you said?”

  Mary nodded slowly, eyes darting back to the window.

  I followed her gaze, but didn’t see anything. “What kind of weird stuff?”

  We had to strain to hear her whispered answer. “Says he gets visions from God. People listen to him ’cause he uses God’s words. Big words, words I don’t understand. He says God told him to get people ready.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Get people ready for what?”

  “He says… he says…” Her body squirmed as if she was trying to shrink deeper into the chair. “Holocaust. A big war’s coming like we never seen before. If you’re not with him when the war comes, you’ll die.”

  Jesse and I blinked questions at each other. Was she delusional?

  Jesse frowned. “Do you know where Frank lives now?”

  “Back in the woods, past North San Juan off Benedict Road. Him and the other one, they named the place Satori. I think that means enlightenment. It’s a big place, an abandoned sawmill. He took me out there a couple times. They talk like it’s gonna be famous someday.”

  Scary!

  Jesse’s expression conveyed genuine interest. “They live there, you say? Who’s the other one?”

  She straightened again, eyes glimmering with emotion. “Weird guy… calls himself Bodhi. It’s some kinda Indian word, I think. Not his real name. That’s all I ever heard them call him. I haven’t seen him much, but what I saw, they’re just alike. They got a big gang up there. I don’t know how many. Hundreds. Maybe more. Doing military drills, you know, getting ready for war. Frankie’s mean. Crazy mean. They both are. I don’t know who’s the leader, Frankie or that kinky-haired freak. Just know you don’t want to cross ’em.” While she spoke, she became more agitated, rising unsteadily to her feet at the end of her warning. “You won’t say I talked to you, will you? I shouldn’t have told you any of this. You can’t say anything about me. Don’t even mention my name.”

  We stood with her.

  “Don’t worry, Mary.” Jesse reached to comfort her. “We wouldn’t want to make trouble for you.”

  Shaking his hand off her arm, she motioned for the door. “You better go. I don’t want no trouble.”

  “How about that car? Would you like me to fix it?”

  I jerked a look at Jesse. Was this generous offer a stalling technique or did he really want to help? Clearly, someone needed to come to this child’s aid. So much of her life was substandard.

  But she wouldn’t accept his help. “Just go.”

  The screen door slammed behind us. Hearing the sound, Jesse threw his arm around me and pulled me into the dust. “Was that a gunshot?” He lifted his head to peer into the trees.

  I would have laughed, but my face was in the dirt. Spitting out as much dust and pebbles as I could, I rolled him off me. “That wasn’t gunshot. The door slammed.”

  He helped me to my feet looking rather sheepish. “Sorry. It was loud. Guess I overreacted”

  “It’s okay.” Brushing off my clothes, I gave him an encouraging smile. “But you know what? We forgot to ask about the black van.” I yanked the door open again. “Hey! Just a minute, Mary. Do you know anyone who drives a black van?”

  “Just Frankie.”

  She slammed the door again.

  This time Jesse only flinched. “This hearing aid magnifies sound like you wouldn’t believe.”

  But I had already keyed in on Mary’s important revelation. “Holy guacamole, Batman! Did you hear that?” I punched Jesse playfully in the arm. “Good ol’ Frankie drives a black van. When we find Frankie, we find the black van. And when we find the black van, we’ll find out what Baxter was doing when he stopped it that night. All we gotta do is find Frankie.”

  “Yeah.” Jesse’s expression was worried. “All we gotta do is find Frankie.”

  On the drive back through town, we stopped at the sheriff’s office. I hoped to find Deputy Oliver in again, but no such luck. Deputy Colter happened to be on duty, so we asked to speak with him.

  Before long, the door popped open and Colter strutted toward us, looking quite annoyed by this disturbance in his busy schedule.

  “The Sterlings.” He pronounced our name as if it had a bad taste. His shoulders drooped. “What can I do for you today?”

  “We hoped to speak with Deputy Oliver about the progress of the Baxter Dunn investigation.”

  “Deputy Oliver is not in charge of that investigation. That would be Detective Rogers.” He turned abruptly.

  I feared he would leave before we learned anything. “We know where you can find the black van.”

  He jerked back toward me. His eyes sparked and his breath puffed in shallow bursts as if his head might explode at any moment. “Have you been snooping around after I specifically told you not to?”

  Afraid he might strike me, I moved out of his reach. Jesse stepped in front of me at the same time. I guess he also worried that I might have provoked a punch.

  Chin out, Jesse confronted the wild beady eyes. “We asked a few questions, that’s all.”

  I peeked out from around Jesse’s middle. “The media is telling lies.”

  Deputy Colter’s complexion reddened. “I specifically warned you not to interfere in this investigation.” His eyes squinted until only tiny slits appeared where the orbs used to be. “You are in over your meddling heads.” His hands tightened into fists. “This is your final warning! Dangerous things are happening in this county. Stay out of it! If you do not, I will slap

  you in jail for obstruction.” He spit the words out, emphasizing each one. “Do you understand?” Then he turned on his heels and marched out of sight.

  I gulped air in hopes it would calm my racing heart. “Was he threatening us?”

  “Sounded like it.” Jesse put his arm around me and led me out of the waiting room. “Either he’s afraid for our safety, which I doubt since he isn’t the compassionate type, or he has some reason for wanting to scare us away.”

  Were those the only possibilities? What reason could Colter have for wanting to scare us away?

  An even more curious question shrieked like a siren in my brain. Why didn’t Colter ask where to find the black van?

  Deep in my own ruminations, I almost missed Jesse’s lecture. “So I don’t want you traipsing off to this Satori place. Got it?”

  “What?”

  Jesse spun me to face him and gripped my shoulders in his hands. He bent to my eye-level. “I’m being very clear about this, Miss Snoopy Nose. You are not to try to find that place on your own.”

  “But Jesse!”

  He shook his head. “I knew you had that in your mind. It’s too dangerous. No way.”

  “Who’s going to go then? Who else cares?”

  No matter what I said, his mind was made up.

  Chapter Nine

  As soon as we reached home, I called Deputy Oliver to tell him about the black van. Maybe he’d be more interested than Colter in finding the occupants.

  “Mrs. Sterling,” Deputy Oliver said as soon as we were connected. “Thank you for calling. I hoped to talk with you today.”

  “Oh?”

  “I heard you stopped by to see me this afternoon and I’ve been thinking over what we spoke of the other day. You said someone in the press received information from the sheriff’s office. Is that correct?”

  “That’s right. He wouldn’t tell me who though.”

  “Do you remember exactly what he said?”

  “I don’t think I can report like Archie Goodwin reported to Nero Wolfe.”

  “How’s that?”

  “V
erbatim. I can’t do that. I wish I could. Maybe I could’ve a few years ago, but my memory isn’t what it used to be.” I was rambling again, although I couldn’t say what made me nervous about this particular conversation. “I believe he

  said someone at the sheriff’s office leaked information to him. He said this person told him that Baxter consorted with known drug dealers the night he died, purchased illegal drugs, and that all of it had been officially denied by the department.”

  “That’s it?”

  I struggled to pull up another memory, but none came. “I don’t remember anything else. Sorry.”

  “What’s the newsman’s name?”

  “Leonard Pinzer. He’s been hanging out waiting for Constance Boyd to drop some interesting crumb. I think he works for Channel 11.”

  “Yes, I’ve met him.”

  “Leonard is hard to miss. He’s quite… tenacious!”

  Deputy Oliver chuckled. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

  “Do you have any idea who’s leaking information?”

  “I might, but I need proof before I accuse him. I hoped you’d remember something more incriminating.”

  Nothing came to mind. “Can’t you tell me the identity of the leak?”

  “Sorry. I can tell you to get ready for a big TV broadcast. Constance Boyd is winding down her, I guess you’d say her investigation.”

  “So she’s leaving soon?”

  “That’s what we heard. She scheduled another press conference for tomorrow afternoon. Wanted more pictures too, I think. Then she’s going back to New York. Her people have been here almost three weeks already. She flies in for a day or two between broadcasts.” He sighed. “She’s stuck to this case tighter than Spandex running shorts on a fat man. Frankly, I’m relieved she’s almost finished. The way she throws her national celebrity status around you’d think she was queen of the world. Most of us have refused to talk to her.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Actually, that’s more than I should say, Mrs. Sterling.”

  “My lips are sealed. We’ll pray for your success.”

  I couldn’t believe I offered to pray. I was beginning to sound just like Zora Jane.

  As the phone disconnected, I realized I never mentioned the black van. I started to, but it just felt wrong. Well, I would have to scout that out myself. If I did find the actual vehicle, then I’d really have something to report.

  Right then I couldn’t wait to share the news about Constance Boyd’s departure. Without hanging up, I punched in the Callahan’s’ phone number. When Zora Jane answered, I launched in. “Constance Boyd plans to broadcast her story soon. She has one final meeting at the sheriff’s office tomorrow afternoon and then she’s leaving town.”

  Zora Jane sighed. “Oh, dear. That will be some story. Since what really happened hasn’t been determined, she will have to embellish what she’s found to fill in the gaps. We might be in for an hour of distortion and unsubstantiated rumors.”

  “You can bet her version will be full of lies.”

  “We need to pray.”

  This time I fully agreed with her. Evil pooled in Nevada County like an oil spill, dark and noxious. Gossip churned the collective emotions. Oppression blanketed our community. God’s Word proclaimed victory over Satan’s minions. Being God’s representatives as Christians, we needed to unite in prayer and plead for God’s intervention.

  That’s why we planned a prayer meeting at the Callahan’s’ house for the next morning.

  Jesse and I arrived for prayer just before nine o’clock. Intent on the importance of our mission, for once I didn’t notice Zora Jane’s outfit.

  She began without hesitation. “Before we pray, we need to search our hearts for anger or bitterness against the media for how they’ve handled Baxter’s death. We must be clean when we come before the Lord with these petitions. If God reveals that we’re holding bitterness, we must ask for forgiveness. Let’s take a few moments now to examine our hearts.”

  In the silence that followed, the anger and resentment I held in my heart against the media blitz and the people who fed off it loomed large in my mind.

  Forgive me, God, for being judgmental and angry. Cleanse my heart. Give me Your love for these people even if I can’t love what they’re doing.

  “Now,” Zora Jane continued, “we’ll pray for them. I’ll mention the ones we know by name. When you hear them named, pray only blessings on them. We must not ask God to harm them in any way, including loss of their jobs. They make their livings being journalists. Their families depend on that.”

  Ed nodded. “That’s true. Reporting the news is a legitimate occupation. When it’s done with compassion and dedication to Truth, it serves an important function to keep the public informed.”

  Zora Jane’s smile looked saintly. “So we’ll ask God to prosper them, give them success in their careers and their personal lives, and to save their souls. We’ll ask Him to grant them wisdom and understanding of the people they’re interviewing and give them a passion for Truth. Not merely intellectual curiosity, but a genuine yearning to present the Truth.” She stopped for a moment and regarded us before speaking again. “We are also going to make a specific request. We will ask God to postpone the airing of this show until the

  investigation is complete. Whatever the eventual outcome, we want the news people to have time to compile all relevant material in a non-biased manner.”

  Kneeling, we began to pray. Periodically, Zora Jane named one of the news people by name or suggested something to pray about. We prayed for Constance Boyd and her people and for Leonard Pinzer and the local news group. Mostly, we prayed silently for the next hour, beseeching God on behalf of the media. When we rose, I sensed the spirit of God and felt the power of communal prayer. Hope shone in Ed and Zora Jane’s eyes.

  Zora Jane grasped Jesse’s hand. “Thank you so much for praying with us today.”

  “What’s next?” Jesse asked.

  “I think we should try to talk with Miss Boyd,” Ed said. “Ask her point blank to postpone her show.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You think she’ll talk to us? Just like that?”

  “Have faith in God,” Ed said. “All we have to do is find her.”

  Finding Constance Boyd turned out to be relatively easy. We drove to downtown Nevada City, spotted Leonard Pinzer and his faithful cameraman sidekick lounging outside the Brownstone Inn, and there she was, having a late breakfast surrounded by her entourage.

  After about half an hour, she emerged in the middle of four people whose rigid expressions and shifting gazes implied that their sole purpose in life was to shield Miss Boyd from oncoming danger. Her uniformed chauffeur walked in front like a burly bodyguard. Rebecca, the spectacled assistant, and an older woman we’d never seen before flanked either side while the cameraman dawdled in the rear, his impressive equipment dangling over one shoulder like a hunter’s trophy.

  Ed approached the group, striding boldly. The chauffeur stepped toward him, arms out to block his path.

  Ed extended his hand and smiled. “Miss Boyd? May we have a moment of your time?”

  Constance Boyd stopped to peer warily at Ed, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight. Apparently, she recognized him because she stepped away from the bodyguard to meet him. “Mr. Callahan. How lovely to see you.” She took Ed’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

  The entourage huddled behind, shielding her rear flank.

  Zora Jane, Jesse, and I caught up with them. Constance glanced at each of us in turn, offering what I considered to be her public smile.

  Zora Jane caught her gaze. “We’ve been praying for you, Miss Boyd. We heard you’re almost finished with your investigation. Will you be returning to New York soon?”

  The smile froze on Constance Boyd’s face. “I have another meeting or two, then I’ll be leaving.”

  “We have a request,” Ed said. “Please postpone airing this piece on Baxter until after his this case has been marked closed.” />
  Constance blinked. “Postpone it?” A choked laugh escaped. “You must be joking. I’ve just spent three weeks gathering information. Time is money, you know.”

  Leonard Pinzer and his cameraman joined us without another word. Leonard jerked his fat black microphone toward Constance and the cameraman hoisted his video camera to his shoulder. The green light flickered on.

  “We appreciate how hard you’ve worked on this project,” Jesse said. “That’s why we’re sure you’ll see the wisdom of waiting. Right now, you’ve only collected part of the story. If you wait until the official investigation and trial are over, you’ll have the whole truth.”

  Zora Jane and I nodded in unison.

  The assistant peered over the top of her glasses with raised eyebrows.

  “I will do an update when the trial is completed,” Constance said. Her coterie collectively glanced at us for a response.

  I stepped toward her. “All you have right now is gossip and innuendo. You need more than that. You need to know why and how when you report this to the nation. Otherwise, your story might be slanted in the wrong direction.”

  An ugly frown transformed Constance’s sleek countenance. Apparently, I’d hit a nerve. She flung her words at me like darts. “Are you insinuating I produce stories without proper research? How dare you? We’ve been researching for three weeks. Also, I do not slant my stories. I do not deal in sensational journalism unless strictly based on fact. Perhaps you did not realize that incredible facts spike ratings.” Her eyes transmitted daggers that sliced the air between us. “Perhaps you don’t wish to believe the facts of this case.”

  I stood my ground.

  Zora Jane stepped between us, always the peacemaker. “Please, Miss Boyd, as the family and friends of Baxter Dunn, we implore you. Do not air the story at this time. We will accept whatever the truth is, but you must promise to report what really happened. If you go on air now, you will perpetuate a great disservice to a remarkable young man and to all who knew him. I am certain you do not want to broadcast lies.”